Expectations & Explorations
by computorboy77
Summary: They are Holmes and Watson, but not quite. Samantha Holmes and James Watson are the descendants of the great detective and his faithful companion. So what happens when a mysterious blue box appears, offering them a trip back in time? Offering them a chance to meet their great-grandfathers? NOTE: Adopted from Jamie Scarlett
1. Chapter 1: Ordinary Day

_I remember that day so clearly, it's as if it were yesterday. The day that changed my life. Looking back now, I'm glad my 17 year old self had the sense to keep a diary of the events that transpired that day. I'm also glad for the fact that I had been able to persuade James to do the same._

_I'm starting in the middle again, but this story starts in the middle of an ordinary day, just over three years ago..._

I glanced nervously around me, clenching the hand on my bag strap into a fist to stop it from shaking. The halls were quiet, as were the three classrooms that boxed me in.

"Sammy?" A familiar voice called my name from the door beside me. "What are you doing here? I thought you did French."

"Yes, James, I do. I have a message for you from Professor Hanson." I'd gotten waylaid by Hannah, Professor Hanson's secretary on the way to class earlier.

His face fell, and he stepped out into the hall. "Joy." He said sarcastically, turning to face me.

"Anyway, here." I handed him the little slip of paper, and as he took it from me I noticed that his hand lingered for a moment too long.

He noticed it too, apparently, because spots of pink appeared on his otherwise pale cheeks. "Sorry."

I smiled at him. "Don't be." He read the note and his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Did you read this?" He asked me.

"No. You know me, I'm not one for reading other people's mail... Why, what does it say?"

He read it to me. "For James Watson. Message to be given as soon as possible. There has been an unexpected change in the timetable and as such you are no longer able to continue with Spanish as well as your chosen options. For this reason you have been placed in Professor Hanson's French class."

I didn't know what to say, so I merely looked at him. He saw me scrutinizing him with my gaze and sighed.

"Well, who am I to argue with fate?"

"Fate? Did you get your iron tablets mixed up with your dad's blood pressure pills or something?"

"No."

"Then what are you talking about?"

"Oh Sam, isn't it obvious?"

I stared at him, confused, and he smiled. It was the first proper smile I'd seen from him all day. My heart hammered and for some reason decided to lodge itself in my throat, preventing me from voicing a reply. James Watson had always been particularly good-looking, but whenever he smiled it seemed to almost transform his face; it was as if someone flicked a switch inside him. His pale blue eyes darkened and softened and his mouth seemed to pinken slightly, creating a contrast with his dark blonde hair.

I swallowed, realizing that I'd been holding my breath.

He laughed. "With your lineage and all, you'd think you'd have at least inherited some of his skills, _Holmes_." He drew out the last word for emphasis.

I rolled my eyes. "James, please don't start that again. And no, it's not obvious."

"Every other class we have together, except this one. Fate." He sighed, and I was reminded of the fact that we should probably start making our way to class.

It was my turn to laugh. "You say fate, I say lucky coincidence. But whatever it was, we should probably get going." James looked up at the clock above my head.

"I suppose you're right. I'd better explain to Professor Diez that I'll be leaving her class, then, assuming that she doesn't know already. I'll see you there?"

"Sure." I replied. He flashed me one last smile, before turning and walking back into the classroom.

I sighed inwardly and hoisted my abused messenger bag further onto my shoulder, picking aimlessly at a broken thread as I walked back towards my locker. My stomach chose that moment to complain at me for lack of nutrition, and I checked my watch. 11am - no wonder I'm hungry - I haven't eaten since 6:30. I paused in front of my locker, and thought. I could either skip class and hide in the bathroom for 35 minutes, or I could go to class and get yelled at for being 35 minutes late. After a few moments deliberation, I chose the latter option. As I headed towards the other end of the Language Building, I thought of what James had said earlier, about my... lineage, as he put it.

My musings were interrupted. "Samantha Holmes, you're late."

Damn. "Sorry, Professor Hanson. Hannah gave me a note to give to someone and I had trouble finding him."

"That would be James Watson, I presume."

I nodded. "Well, we shall discuss your constant lateness after class. Inside." Sounding rather annoyed, she walked back into the classroom. I had no choice but to follow her in, trying to avoid the curious stares from my classmates. I sat in my usual seat by the window. The occupant of the desk next to mine shot me a slightly nasty look as I pulled my chair back, which struck me as odd. I've never been the most sociable of people, but I'd managed to make friends with Cara Hooper. I was under the general impression that she liked me well enough, so naturally I wondered what was the matter.

Prof. Hanson started handing out vocab sheets with instructions on how to form the past participle of verbs. This was year 10 stuff, so I found it relatively easy. Prof. Hanson predicted it would take the class the rest of the lesson - all 20 minutes of it - to complete the double-sided worksheet. It took me considerably less than that, so I spent the remaining 10 minutes just thinking, before my brain picked up the train of thought that had been interrupted earlier.

Why do certain names have to have expectations attached to them? Not that I was complaining about mine; I was lucky, in a way. Because my last name is Holmes. As in, Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Chapter 2: Heritage

Yes, you heard me right. _**The**_ Sherlock Holmes. And there is no doubting the fact that he is - was - real, for if he was a fictional character, I simply would not exist. I also know that I am the first girl born with the name Holmes; the name is from my father's side of the family. And I think you've all worked out by now that we are related in some way. I am not his granddaughter, but his great-granddaughter. Much like James. James Watson is the great-grandson of Holmes' faithful companion, Doctor John Watson. I too thought that Holmes and Watson would find a way to stay together despite various laws preventing such things, but no.

Being their descendants several heirlooms had made their way into James' and my possession, including both of their pocket watches, Holmes' treasured violin and a series of journals. From these, we had learnt more of our heritage. Apparently, Watson remarried for the third time in 1901, to an American woman named Leanne Rhodes, and they had a son, William-Sherlock. And despite Watson's opinion that Holmes was a machine, not affected by love or the 'softer' emotions, he too married. However, his wife passed away due to severe blood loss following complications during childbirth, so Holmes was left to bring up his son by himself.

I smiled to myself, almost forgetting where I was until Professor Hanson brought me out of my thoughts. To tell the truth, it was the bell that brought me out of it.

"Miss Holmes, we still have the matter of your lateness to discuss." I stifled a groan and reluctantly put my books and pencil case back into my bag. "Bring me your homework diary." The next sigh took a lot more effort to successfully suppress, but thankfully I managed to stop it from surfacing.

I pulled my homework diary out again and walked up to her desk. The way they are designed for different years used to really annoy me; when you were in year 10 or 11, you used to get the really boring ones (like ones with books on them) while the younger and older years got rainbow designs. Being a year 12 has its perks, and I'm not referring to the fact that we don't have to wear a uniform.

"Now," She said, drawing my attention back to her. "Is there a reason you have been late to almost every lesson, save today, for the past two weeks?"

There was, but it was highly personal (not to mention embarrassing) and not something I was likely to tell her. Rather than saying this and getting myself into a complicated mess, I decided to choose the path of least resistance. In my case this was simply saying no and accepting the punishment that came with it.

"No reason, Professor. I'm sorry, but I don't think I'll be able to stop it for a while."

She looked at me, concerned. "Is there anything the matter?"

I decided to tell her, my earlier decision and the consequences be damned.

"It's my aunt... She's... ill, at the moment, and the... prognosis isn't very promising. Almost every lesson I've been late is because I've stayed at the hospital with her every night and had to go home and change... But I fear that when I leave for school, it'll be the last time I see her..." I trailed off, repressing the urge to fidget in discomfort. I can't remember the last time I told one of my teachers something like that... but it felt kind of good to tell someone. My only other option was James, but I hadn't told him. I don't know why I haven't; he's my closest friend, has been since we were little, and I know I can talk to him about anything.

She looked at me sympathetically. "So naturally, you want to spend as much time with her as possible. I understand. But you -" She broke off mid-sentence. "Never mind." She handed my homework diary back to me. "Off you go then."

I nodded and didn't say anything. I pulled my bag back onto my shoulder and walked out of the classroom, only then looking at what she'd written. She'd given me detention; that much I expected. But I had expected it to be two or three, not just the one. Not that I was complaining.

My stomach was battling with my bladder for my attention, and I thought it best to see to the latter first.

I pushed my homework diary back into my bag as I made a beeline for the bathroom on the first floor.

Once my bladder had stopped complaining, I dropped my bag to the floor in front of the sinks. Having washed my hands, I dug around for the little make-up bag that I always kept with me and touched up my mascara.

I've heard many people tell me that I don't need mascara, that my eyelashes were naturally long enough as it is. I was inclined to disagree with them, but I only used mascara to define my eyes. They were an odd shade of grey, verging on silver around my irises and darkening gradually towards the edges. The dark grey often became more or less pronounced dependent upon the mood I was in; if something or someone had particularly annoyed me that day, they darkened so much that their colour was often referred to by James as 'stormy grey'. Inversely, if I was in a good mood, the dark grey seemed to contrast less with the lighter shades, and they seemed clear of any other colour. You'd expect such a rare colour to be lost through the generations, as grey gave way to brown. This is what my father had expected to happen to me, that I wouldn't inherit my great-grandfather's definitive eye colour, that it would be subdued and replaced by the dull brown of my mothers'. The only featured I inherited from my mother was... well, two X chromosomes. All of my other features came from my father's side of the family.

As I was reapplying the mascara to my lashes, I felt something strain and snap on the back of my head. A white ribbon fluttered to the floor; as it did so, my long black hair unwound itself from the plait I'd tied it up in this morning. I sighed and searched my trouser pockets for another hair band, but they were empty. How could I have forgotten to put a spare in my pocket? I brushed my fringe out of my eyes and tucked a few errant strands behind my ears. Don't get me wrong; I love my hair, but sometimes it really irritates me. At the moment, the irritation came from the length, and was directed back at my father. I usually have my hair cut just above shoulder length, but last time I decided to try something new. The result was that my hair didn't reach past my chin. My fringe had curved to the right and almost covered my eye. Needless to say, my father was less than pleased and promptly forbade me from cutting it that short ever again. So I let it grow, and it now hung in thin waves (from the plait) down my back, to around waist-length. I checked my watch again and headed towards the already crowded hall.

The remainder of the school day passed with little trouble.

It was on the way home that the trouble began.

"So..." James began as we walked home. I looked at him expectantly. "You have a violin lesson today, don't you?"

Did I? "No... It's Thursday, James. Michael has his piano lesson today."

"Oh."

"How did you manage to mix up my lesson with my brothers', seeing as you always offer to walk me there and pick me up?"

He laughed, but there was something different. It was off-key, almost. "I don't know."

I smiled, determined to get him to reciprocate. "Maybe you just had one of your blonde moments." I teased.

He responded, whether he wanted to or not. "Must you continue to insult my kind?"

"Yep." I replied.

He looked me up and down, and grinned. I raised an eyebrow at him, and he laughed, putting his arm around my shoulders. I rolled my eyes and was about to push him away when a strange noise floated towards us. James' laughter stopped, and he turned to me.

"Can you hear that?" He asked, gripping my shoulder a little too tightly.

It sounded like a ghost wailing, before it got louder. As the volume increased, I realised the noise was similar to that of an engine, and it was right in front of us. I was about to take a step towards the noise when my foot came into contact with something hard. Wood. Blue wood. What on earth...?


	3. Chapter 3: Doctor Who?

_**(James' POV)**_

_In a way I'm glad that Sam could be so persuasive sometimes. Otherwise I would only have her account of the day's events and not my own perspective._

I watched as something began to materialize in front of us. Curious creature that she was, Sam went to walk forwards a step when her foot collided with something solid. Her faint complaint of pain had me looking down at her in concern. She looked up at me, as if she had guessed what I was thinking.

"I'm fine, James."

She seemed to realize that I still had my arm around her shoulders, and quickly stepped away. The awkwardness of the movement surprised me just a little, though Sam did have a tendency to be as clumsy as she was graceful. Then I recalled the moment in the hall earlier, when she delivered the note from her Profesoer.

'**Not so much a moment as an accident**_.' _A voice in my head whispered, and I promptly told it to be quiet. The sound of Sam's voice snapped me out of having an argument with my conscience.

_Oh, I was so blind. Truth be told, so was she, but... It's weird, rereading what my 17 year old self had to say about that strange day in March._

"It's solid," Sam stated, pressing her palm flat against the... box, if that's what it was. "But... It appeared out of thin air."

She took a couple of steps backwards, and I watched her disappear around the corner of the blue box. I couldn't tell what she was doing, and didn't particularly want to know.

_...and I admit now that I was too nervous to go and check._

There was a faint squeaking sound, like that of hinges, and Sam shrieked. It was shrill and slightly deafening, but thankfully short. Anything that could scare Sam like that was generally never good, but I pushed away my nerves and decided to walk around the box to see if she needed help. Before I could take more than two steps in her direction, someone spoke.

"Hello." The voice was low and pleasant, and unmistakably male. It had a certain accent to it, but I couldn't tell what it was from that one word. I stepped quietly around the corner of the big blue box, only to find Sam face to face with a strange man.

_**(Sam's POV)**_

The doors of the box opened inwards, and I got a brief glance at the interior before someone got in my line of sight. They stepped forward suddenly enough to make me jump, and I was unable to prevent the shriek that forced its way out of my throat. The man seemed not to hear this; he merely looked around the street as if he was trying to gauge where he was. Then his gaze fell on me, and he smiled.

_Oh, you brilliant man._

"Hello," he said. His voice was low but pleasant, and accented. "You don't happen to know the date, by any chance?" Was that a northern accent? His eyes flicked to James, who had stepped out from behind the box.

"It's the 15th March, 2009." James answered.

"_2009!_" A blonde girl, maybe a few years older than James and myself, pushed her way out of the box. She stared up at the man, irritation plain on her young face. "Doctor, that's four years in the future. _Four_." Future? Doctor? What on earth was she talking about?

_Maybe 'on earth' was a bit... inaccurate._


	4. Chapter 4: The Time Machine

He looked down at her. "An' what's wrong with that?"

Her flippant reply sparked a short argument, and I used that opportunity to really look at them. The 'Doctor' looked as if he was in his mid 30's. He wore a faded black leather jacket over a red jumper and dark jeans.

She, on the other hand, looked as if she'd just left school. She had shoulder length blonde hair and, like the Doctor, was wearing jeans, only they were paired with a hoodie and trainers. Standing there in my formal blue blouse and dark trousers, and boots with heels, I couldn't help but feel slightly overdressed.

"... and I think we're confusing them." The girl said, gesturing to where James and I stood.

James laughed. "Wasn't paying much attention, to be honest. Doubt Sam was either."

I shot him a sharp look. "I was too." I replied, knowing that I sounded like a whiny child.

The Doctor snorted. "Humans. Can't go 5 minutes without arguing." The girl rolled her eyes.

"Anyway, I'm Rose. And you are...?"

"Sam. And this is James."

"What year did you say it was, again?" Rose asked.

"2009. You mentioned something about the future?" I left the question open, not really expecting an answer. I was about to get one, though as she opened her mouth to reply, there was the sound of glass breaking from further up the road.

"What's up there?" The Doctor asked, turning to me.

"The high street." I said.

He stared at me. "The high street of where, exactly?"

"Canterbury, Kent, England."

He suddenly got excited, for some reason. "As in, Canterbury Cathedral? That Canterbury?"

I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Yes, that one." I thought about adding that that statement had made him sound like a tourist, but didn't have to say it. James did it for me.

"You realise that made you sound all tourist-y, right?"

Rose laughed; the Doctor didn't. There were more crashes, and people began to scream. Their smiles faded, and they took off towards it.

James and I looked at each other, simultaneously deciding to follow them.

We ran as fast as we could after them, and even with our bags weighing us down, we were able to catch up to them as they turned onto the high street. They both stopped, and so did we. James just froze; I walked forward slowly as my mind attempted to register the scale of the destruction of this beautiful street.

There was glass and debris littering the ground, rubbish bins spilling their contents all over the pavement. Joining these were abandoned boutique bags, Jack Wills and Hollister alike, and there were people running towards us, presumably headed for one of the train stations.

James was first to voice his confusion. "What the hell..."

"Excuse me, miss!" I called out to a young woman who was about to rush past me. Her steps faltered and she stared at me, shock and horror the defining emotions on her tanned face.

"Miss, could you tell me what happened here?" I asked, my voice taking on a slightly sympathetic but business-like tone.

"Sh-Shop window... Dummies, moving, k-ki-... People disappearing." She spoke in short, broken sentences, each word punctuated by fear.

I nodded my thanks and moved away from her.

James had started moving again, so I headed towards where Rose and the Doctor were standing.

"Live shop window dummies?" I asked sceptically.

They looked at each other.

"You don't think it's the Nestene Consciousness and the Autons again, do you?" Rose asked him.

"No, we got rid of them all in London." There was an unspoken 'I think' on the end of that sentence.

James frowned. "This happened before?"

"Oh! Of course..." I turned to him. "Don't you remember? It was 2005, I think. Dad was coming home from work and he saw all these plastic mannequins coming alive..."

He frowned again, but it cleared away as he remembered, too.

"Oh, I remember now. I heard about it from Jo; she was on a school trip or something when it happened."

"'Jo'?" Rose asked.

"My older sister." James explained.

"'Jo' what? Not Joanna Watson, surely?"

"You know her?"

Rose shrugged. "Heard of her, more like. Artist or something, isn't she?"

James looked puzzled, and I noticed the Doctor frowning in Rose's direction.

"Well, not exactly. Will she be?"

Rose didn't answer him, and the Doctor changed the subject.

"So, any big round landmarks 'round here?"

James and I looked at each other.

"No. Only big landmark in Canterbury is the Cathedral, I'd say." He replied.

Rose turned to the Doctor. "It's worth a look." Then she turned to us. "I don't really know my way around Canterbury, so..."

I got what she was trying to say.

"Lead the way, James. Oh, don't look surprised, you've lived here longer than me."

He started to walk in the direction of the cathedral, and I followed him.

It took us about 5 minutes to reach the gate.

"What are we looking for?" I asked, craning my neck to see the dome of the cathedral.

"Something like a satellite dish. At least, that's what it was last time."

"What, like that?" I said, pointing up to the spire. Perched on top of it was a huge dish. I could see the edges of it, almost, but the rest was a bit blurry.

"Why is it all... blurred?" James asked from behind me.

"Perception filter. It's like something doesn't want anyone to notice it."

"D'you reckon it's pointing towards London?" Rose asked.

"Probably. Come on." The Doctor grabbed her hand and they ran off in the direction we'd come, heading down the high street and back towards that strange blue box.

There was the sound of more glass smashing behind us, and James chanced a look over his shoulder.

"They're following us." He stated, sounding slightly panicked.

"Everybody inside!" The Doctor called to us, holding the door of the box open, and we tailed Rose inside without even thinking about it.

This time, I froze. It was bigger on the inside. How is that even possible, fitting a room this size into a box that small? James and I stood shocked as the Doctor went up to the console, if that's what it was, and flicked a lever. The floor beneath us vibrated and that same engine sound we'd heard earlier started again.

"Um, Doctor?" Rose gestured to the pair of us. He looked up from where he was fiddling with the console and caught our expressions.

"Ah. Bigger on the inside."

"What is this?" I asked, regaining my voice.

"This is the TARDIS. T-A-R-D-I-S. Time And Relative Dimension In Space."

Rose grinned at us. "It's something, isn't it?"

"Yeah." James' voice was breathy.

"Wow." I added, in awe.

The sound stopped, the floor stopped vibrating and Rose pulled open the door.

James barely had time to exclaim "We've moved!" before Rose and the Doctor were off like a shot towards the bridge about half a mile away. We followed them, and as we were running I realised there was a river to our right. The London Eye was on the other side of that river. James was right, we had moved. We were in London, when minutes ago we'd been in Canterbury.

The pair of them reached a set of stairs leading to the river's edge. Rose started down them but the Doctor stopped and turned to us.

"You two, stay here. It's not safe down there."

"It's no safer up here!" I argued, taking a few steps towards him as he went to join Rose.

He shook his head but didn't say anything back as he walked away.

I had a feeling that I was going to regret what I did next, but my curiosity got the better of me and I followed him.

What awaited us there was one of the strangest sights I'd ever seen.

_...so far._


End file.
